War Horse Continued: Captain Nicholls side of the story
by Tom Hilts
Summary: Its War Horse as you've never seen it! What happened after James fell from the saddle? Keep watching for the next chapter!
1. Chapter 1

"I don't like it Charlie." Cavalry Captain James Nichols said to his friend.

"The Major has his orders James." Lieutenant Charles Waverly answered.

"But something does not feel right!" James said as he rubbed down joey, his sleek chestnut charger; Charlie was in the stall opposite James, grooming his own mare, Frost.

"I mean do you really think that a brigade of 200 foot soldier would go out near enemy lines with no means of protection?"

Charlie looked down at his boots. "I understand what you mean, James, and I hear you, but our scouts said there were no battery, no nests, nothing! I just hope that when the time comes I …" his voice faltered. James looked up from the piece of mane he was concentrating of and gazed across the stalls.

"You do not sound so confident my friend." He said smoothly.

Charlie hid his face behind his mares' neck, lest he show his emotions.

"I- I am afraid James!" he spoke urgently, "I'm afraid to …to…" he couldn't finish.

James had stepped out of Joey's stall and crossed over to his friend.

"Charlie?" he said, his voice so low that Waverly could hardly hear him, "you will make it, you hear me? I know you will, you must tell yourself that. You have courage and loyalty, even if you don't feel it, it is there, it is waiting for you to use it, I know it is there, it is time to prove to yourself what is inside you." He forced a smile on his face.

Charlie smiled back; James knew he too was faking.

Nichols put a hand on his friends shoulder and shook it. "You will be fine my friend." With that he quietly went back to Joey. As he brushed the horses sleek neck brick-brown coat, he couldn't help but feel impending doom weigh down his own shoulders.

"You are right!" came a small voice behind. Charlie had gathered himself to his full height and was returning Frosts tack to the tack-room. "I just need to stay calm, just… if only I had the soul courage you do James, you seem so sure, I will trust you." James smiled as he watched his friend leave the room. He took off his hat and raked a hand through his dirty-blond hair. His smile faded as he turned back to Joey.

"I-I am not as brave as he thinks I am Joey!" James said, his voice sounded hurt, "I just can't…" his voice came in a hoarse whisper. "I'm afraid to die, just as much as he is."

Alone in the stables with just the horses for company, Nichols wept; they were not cowards tears, but tears of a beaten man, thrown by fate, who believes he had his company are being sent to an infallible death. The only visible light was certain death at the end of his tunnel.

"Why does the world do this to us boy?"

The horse wrapped his neck around James shoulders, pressing his master to his warm, smooth side.

Major Jamie Stewart had gathered his 400 some horsemen to a clearing, not a thousand yards from the enemy encampment.  
James was patting Joey on the neck and making sure all his equipment was in order.

"This seems to be ship shape, Joey, nothing lacking…" he turned and took Joey's bridle.  
Looking into the horse's eyes, he said softly, "You going to be my good boy? Eh Joey? That's a lucky boy."

Joey's soft brown eyes calmed James. He sighed, "Ah, Joey! My legs feel so weak!"

The horse whinnied and rubbed his head against his master as if trying to reassure him.

"Thank you Joey." James whispered in the animal's ear.

"Company! Mount!" the cry came loud and strong from the Major's lips.

With creaking of leather and jingling of bits, the company mounted their horses' as one. James heartbeat was ringing in his ears like a drum, he hardly heard Charlie ride up beside him.

"Major wants you beside him James." Waverly was saying.

"Wh-what? Oh! Yes, of course." Nichols responded by turning Joey to the right and going off to find Stewart.

With everyone in formation, Major Stewart turned to face his company.

"Men?" he called out with a strong voice. "We go now to do our King's bidding, do your duty, honor God, and most of all…" his voice faltered but he regained himself and said more loudly than before, "Be Brave!" he paused and looked at his men through moist eyes, "Be Brave!" he said again, "Be Brave!"

The Major spurred his horse, Topthorn, who swung around and stamped his hoofs in impatience.

"Company!" Stewart called, "Forward walk."

Each man clucked to his horse, which in turn began to move forward.  
They rode through a wooded area, then a field of tall golden grass. When they had reached the edge of the grass, each man saw what lay ahead, a large field, green and cool in the morning mist; at the far end, a camp of German soldiers who were just waking up. At the Majors order, the swords came out with a ringing hiss. James looked over to Charlie. The man sat rigid in his saddle. James quietly put a hand on his friends shoulder and squeezed. They shook hands and tried to smile for each other.

"I will see you on the other end?" Charlie whispered hopefully.

"God willing, I will see you too, Charlie." James whispered back.

Stewart looked at the two of them and nodded; it was time.  
Sitting tall in the saddle, the Major gave the silent command.  
It fallowed down the line of officers till every man had seen it, "Full Gallop!"

The horses leapt forward as each rider dug his heals into the animals flank. Away they went, eating up the ground, faster, faster, the sound of thunder was in their hooves!  
The two horses in the lead were Joey and Topthorn, each craning his neck and chomping on the bit.

"Come on Joey!" James whispered in the horse's ear, "Come on my friend, let's make it through this!"

German troops scrambled like mad men toward the cover of the forest, each hoping to reach safety.

James heard them before he saw them; planted behind each tree was a Gatling gun!  
The rapid fire echoed across the field and into the forest. There were too many for James to count!  
The noise came again, a rattling sound that carried imminent death in its wake.  
James shoulder seared with pain, the sword fell from his limp hand. Nichols looked down at his right shoulder, a bullet had torn through, just below his collar bone, and blood was soaking the fabric around the fresh wound.

"Keep going!" he told himself as he gritted his teeth.

James looked to his left and his right, more gunfire sang, and with its wicked tune, soldiers and horses fell, never to rise again.  
Horror was plain on James face. The first thought that went streaking through his mind was, "I knew it, and now I and many others will die for it!"

There was a deafening roar close to James; two more bullets hit him in the mid-section, throwing him from Joeys back. Nichols hit the ground with a fire-like burn in his shoulder and stomach. The last thing he saw was Joey running in the distance with Albert's flag, flapping from his bridle.

"Go….Jo-Joey….." James whispered; in a sweep of pain everything plummeted into darkness for Captain James Fredrick Nichols."

Charlie looks frantically for James or Stewart. He was beginning to lose hope when he caught site of James. He must have been hit, because at the burst of the gun, Nichols hand flew to his shoulder. Charlie strained his eyes to keep with James, but other riders blocked his view and he lost sight of his friend. Not long after another gun fire, Charlie saw Joey, running rider less. Deep in Charlie's heart, he knew that James was dead. He did not feel the bullet that ripped his leg open, nor did he feel him and horse falling, he did not feel the bone crushing weight on his wounded leg that came from Frost, who had been shot dead. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel; deep in his heart, he knew James was dead. It was over.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie looked around at the carnage before him, it was terrible. Bodies of men and horse alike were strewn like chaff across the field, those who weren't dead where praying for it. In the distance he heard a man yelling over the gunfire to one of the surviving British officers, and even though this man had a heavy German accent, Charlie could plainly make out what he said.  
"Who do you think you are!" the man waved his arms in frustration, "Did you really think that a camp this size would be so unguarded?"  
What the man had said hit Charlie in the pit of his stomach like someone had kicked him.  
_"I mean do you really think that a brigade of 200 foot soldier would go out near enemy lines with no means of protection?" _ James had said.  
A tear slid down Charlie's face. _"Why would no one listen when it was so painfully obvious?" _ He asked himself.  
It was indeed devastating, inside Charlie felt as if he would have rather gone to hell and back then to have seen so many of these men, some even young boys, torn apart and treated with no respect as the dead warrior is entitled to.  
The wounded and those still alive were being taken and loaded into wagons bound for a prison-camp. Two young soldiers came along and pushed the corpse from Charlie's leg. One of them heaved him to his feet and helped him to a wagon. Charlie looked out across the field once more. "James!" he called in desperation, "James?" his voice gave out as he said it again. There was no response.  
"Whoever you are looking for my friend," one of the German soldiers said in broken English, "He is dead." This comment stunned Charlie to silence, but his eyes never left the field. The plan had failed miserably! He watched as the dead were laid out in rows, he couldn't bear to see them, yet he could not tear his gaze away. Charlie's sore eyes came to rest on one of them. The man's hat had fallen from his head when the German soldiers had set him down. He had light, dirty blond hair.  
The wagon started with a jolt. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut as another single tear quietly slipped down his cheek. The wagon rolled away.

The sun was high in the sky; the smell of death was nauseating! Army surgeons were going to and fro, among the wounded soldiers, German and British alike. A young aid, perhaps fourteen, was walking among the dead when he stopped at the side of a light haired English officer. He studied the corpse for a moment then with wide eyes turned to the surgeon near him.  
"Sir!" he called out, "this one is alive."  
"You are dreaming," the mas called back, "the sun is too hot for you and with all this death floating around you, you simply wish to see something living. Nein, he is dead... toten I say!" he used his hands to emphasize what he said; when he finished they fell limp to his sides. He shook his head and sighed. The boy sighed as well and was about to leave when an idea came to him.  
_"But what if..." _he thought to himself. He turned back to the light haired soldier and placing a finger on the man's throat, felt for a pulse. Nothing...wait! There was something! Very faint a, but still a pulse!  
"But sir!" the boy called again, "He is alive! I swear it!"  
The surgeon, with a grumble, hobbled over to the boy, and upon feeling the pulse, he turned and smiled at the boy.  
"Yes, Johannes, he lives. Mann Herr! You will be a better einen besseren Arzt than me someday."

When James woke, it was dark and cold. He found himself in a small square wagon. Where he was headed, he knew not, what he did know though was that every lurch or jolt of the cart made his chest and shoulder throb! He could literally feel every rut or stone in the road! Outside a horse whinnied loudly and James thoughts went back to what had happened only hours before. He closed his eyes trying to block the images the danced before his mind, but it didn't work. He tried to stop his ears so as not to hear the pitiful cries of dieing men and the frightful tattoo of the Gatling gun. Nothing helped. The noise became louder and the pictures more clear. It was then that he felt someone shaking him gently by his good shoulder. Opening his eyes to mere slits he looked into the friendly face of a young boy.  
"Sei still mein Glück Offizier", he whispered, "Es war nur ein Traum."  
"Ich bin... junge tut mir leid, ich spreche nicht... viel Deutsch", James said trying to be understood, letting the boy know that he barely knew the German language. The boy nodded and continued in broken English,  
"I am sorry...but you must be still, you were only dreaming."  
James gave a raspy sigh of relief not because it was a dream but because the boy had broken whatever spell it was that made the horrors reappear.  
"Where are we?" he asked with a voice that was a mere whisper, his eyelids drooping shut.  
"Where we are I do not know," the boy said, "But I believe we travel back to the mother-land."  
James groaned and his eyes focused on the boy, "Germany?" he choked out. The boy's face lit up, "Ja, I go home for Weihnachten, for Christmas!"  
James entire countenance fell, the boy must have seen for he placed a hand on the officers shoulder and said, "You will like it mien Glückspilz offizier, we have Christmas like you do, I am sure you will like it."  
"_But I doubt the sacred holiday will be kept in a prison camp."_ Nichols said to himself dolefully.  
"How many of us were taken?" he asked.  
"Roughly I believe the number was 97." The boy answered with a dark look.  
"Oh God?" James closed his eyes, "Why?"  
"Thirty were unharmed and about fifty eight suffered minor injuries. There are nine of you who need more substantial care." The boy continued.  
"And the horses?" James asked, he didn't want to, but he had to know!  
"The lucky ones, mein offizier, are being used to pull the ambulances and supply wagons. The others...the others were shot because they were of no use."  
Although this was said quietly, James could hear the remorse and bitterness in the lad's voice. He screwed his eyes shut, if only he could his ears, he didn't want to hear any more, or see any more.  
"I'm sorry Albert!" he whispered under his breath, which came in ragged gasps. The boy didn't hear him.  
Both were silent for a time.  
"What is your name?" the boy finally asked shyly. James slowly lifted his eyes to him, young and innocent...probably not even old enough to be in this war. James suddenly felt sorry for the boy, for everything he had seen that had changed the little child into a hardened youth and from youth swiftly to adult.  
"James." was the quiet reply.  
"And my name is Johannes. I am aid to our camps military arzt... I mean doctor."  
"And how old are you, Johannes?" Nichols asked.  
"Sixteen." The boy swiftly replied.  
James made an effort to raise an eyebrow, "Really, sixteen?"  
"I- I see there is no lying to you offizier, I am only just fourteen, Kapitän." Johannes cast his eyes downward. James couldn't help but smile to himself.  
Just then the wagon gave another lurch; James throat spasmed as he grunted in pain. Johannes busied himself with Nichols bandages.  
"It has begun to rain." He said whimsically. "The roads will become thick with mud."  
Nichols stared out a small crack in the wagons canvas covering. Rain had indeed begun to fall; it began to pour now by the torrents.  
"My mother would say that die glorreichen Engel or angels are weeping." Johannes whispered as he finished the bandage on James shoulder.  
"They have cause to weep today." James replied under his breath... He shuddered at the remembrance, the sound of the guns and the screams still ringing in his ears. With a small, gravely sigh, which sounded more like a sob, Nichols whispered to oblivion, "I am sorry Joey."

Johannes looked down at the man he was attending to. "Der arme kerl." was all he could think of to say. Everyone here had seen their share of hardships, and terrible sights...and yet...the world lived on without them, when they just wanted it to stop, never change, to be right. And it would turn on them; throw everything that they knew or loved to the ground, to be trampled on by empty dreams.

The boy turned to look out the back of the wagon. "Why must the world change? Warum muss die Welt verändern? Why can't it stay the same? " he said hopelessly to the wind. Turning back to the captain, he found the man asleep. Johannes smiled.  
"Sleep my Kapitän Soldat; forget what the world has done to us..."  
Nichols did sleep, but it was sleep filled with terrible, cruel dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for reading so far, I hope to impress you all, and I hope not to disappoint you. I thank you for the positive reviews I have gotten so far, please review more! It makes me so happy to see them!  
I am ever so sorry that it has taken me absolutely FOREVER to finish this chapter but I have had so much to do in the last month._

_Enjoy!_

The German outpost had split their company in two, sending ninety of the British soldiers with the larger half, which were traveling to the nearest POW camp. The smaller half would take the nine more seriously wounded back to Germany to be better taken care of. James was with the party that would go to the mother land. It was a hard, slow and agonizing journey. The days seemed to stretch themselves into long weary weeks. Illness for the injured was inevitable, and with it only came more death. The nine prisoners soon diminished. A young man who had to have his arm amputated was the first to go. An older soldier who had taken a bullet to the head soon followed him. Next was a mere boy! Who had only suffered a leg wound that was not fatal, but due to lack of proper supplies, infection set in and claimed his life as well. Fever spread quickly, amongst both captive and captor, getting its icy hands on all who were vulnerable. James was last of his group to fall to its clutches. Being the only officer, he tried to keep his few men's morale up, even when two more died from wounds and illness. He them to stay strong, to keep thinking of home, and they would make it through.  
At long last, they made it to a hospital far behind enemy lines. James was put into a room that was packed with other wounded soldiers of all ranks. It smelled horrible! There were very few windows and they were all barred shut. When James was finally attended to, his fever had put him into a semi-conscious state. He did not feel anything, he could hardly hear anything, and he would not eat at all. He lay with a sense of insecurity, not really remembering what had happened to him or where he was. All he could see was a reddish-brown horse, with dark flowing mane and warm brown eyes that could penetrate to one's very soul. In his thoughts, he saw the horse with a boy, a young boy, who was very much attached to the creature. The horse too returned the affection.  
This was the way things went with James for about three weeks, taking no notice of his surroundings, speaking to no one, and eating enough to stay alive. An older nurse, who spoke no English, was assigned to him. It pained her to see him this way; he had no resolve, no desire to stay alive. He reminded her very much of her son, his nose, his hands, his chin. No amount of medicine would cure this! She was resolved to do something in order to keep him alive! One night when no one was looking, she went through his jacket. What she found was a piece of paper that had been folded over twice. It was worn around the edges and looked like it had been handled many a night. Her curiosity drove her to open it. She gasped when she saw a pair of soft eyes looking back at her. It was a pencil drawing of a horse. Magnificence etched in every line and crease. She was astonished at how real the picture seemed! The horse had his head turned toward you; it's body lengthwise, showing off its silky coat. He was wearing a cavalry saddle and short riding reigns. He looked poised, ready, as if waiting for his master's command, then spring do to what was bidden. At the bottom of the paper was written, "'Joey' by Capt. J. Nichols."  
"Joey..." The woman breathed, savoring the sound of the English word. The nurse thought for a moment. If this picture is in this state, the animal must be very dear to him. She looked to the sleeping captain. As usual, his eyes were closed, his cheeks sunken, his face and lips were white, giving him an eerie look in the moonlight that filtered in through a window apposite him. The nurse placed the drawing in one of his cold, limp hands.  
"Ich Sie beten, Mien Herr?" she breathed the short prayer before leaving.  
James watched her leave. She was a dear old soul, of that he was sure, he had watched her the past few days and it looked as if he actually cared whether he lived or died! Peering down at the drawing in his hand, he let a tear fall.  
"I have let so many people down!" he said to himself. "I'm sorry Joey; you were a friend I was privileged to have. If you can hear me somehow, thank you."  
James fell into a deep and peaceful sleep, one that he had not had in a long time.

The next day, as the elderly nurse made her rounds; she stopped as always by James cot and sat down in a chair that was nearby.  
"Wird er überhaupt gut sein?" She said aloud as she closed her eyes.  
"I am terribly sorry," came a soft voice near her, "But I cannot understand what you say?"  
The nurse opened her eyes to confront the speaker; they came to rest on her charge. James eyes were slightly open and there was just a hint of a smile on his pale lips.  
"Sprechen Sie Englisch?" He asked.  
"Nein verstehe Nein, ich es nicht!" the nurse replied shaking her head.  
"Nederlands?" James asked hopefully.  
The woman shook her head again, she did not understand him. James sighed.  
"Français?" A look of desperation in his eyes.  
The woman's face lit up! "Ja! Ja!" she checked herself and smiled, "Oui! Oui je peux, vous aussi ?"  
"Oui Madame." James sighed in relief. Someone he could talk to at last!

**Pardon for the interruption, but I am going to write the rest of their conversation in English so you don't need to read this with the help of a lexicon. :D**

There was a moment of silence before James spoke, still very quietly.  
"I want to thank you for the way you have treated me... us bloody English, and a prisoner of war no less!" he closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into fists quietly at his side.  
"No sir," The woman interjected, "As the famous Abraham Lincoln of the American United States said, 'All men are created equal.' I believe it sir with all my heart. Humans are just that... humans! And they should be treated as such! To some they are no more than machines to work for them, expendable machines that neither think nor feel, oh how very wrong they are! I believe there to be good in everyone sir..." she paused as laughed at her statement, "Well almost everyone, but that includes you Mon ami."  
the lady gave James a smile he would never forget.  
"Goodness! I do forget myself!" she continued, "My name is Laura, Laura Valskee."  
"A pleasure Madame Valskee, I am former Calvary Captain James Nichols."  
"You drew this picture, of the horse?" Mrs. Valskee asked.  
The smile on James face quickly faded. "Yes... I did." The weight of seeing almost all of his men dead or wounded still haunted him, hurt him, tortured his dreams.  
"Do not fear for your friends, James, they are in the good Lords hands."  
James eyes became watery and red, he turned away so she would not see his face.  
"Yes Cherie," Laura placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I know what it is to lose someone. I believe most people do in this war."  
James turned his face to her again.  
"You see, my husband left me to join our young daughter in heaven over ten years ago, and my boy? Well, he is greeting them as we speak, no doubt."  
She paused and looked into James eyes.  
"You remind me so much of him..." she gave a sigh and looked heavenward. "He was shot for dishonorable conduct." She shook her head. "I know my son, I saw him the night before he died. He told me that the only crime he had committed was that of sparing and enemies life against his sergeant's orders."  
"He was a brave man." James whispered softly.  
Oh I know he was." Laura replied, "He was so much like his father." She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes  
"Look at me?" she laughed, "A full grown woman crying like a petite child I am!" she paused then continued, "What made you change your mind about leaving?"  
James let his mind wander a little. "A friend I do not wish to let down." He said after a moment.


End file.
